


The House that Bleeds

by CharlotteGoldfinch



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 12:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5743621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlotteGoldfinch/pseuds/CharlotteGoldfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most houses are ordinary with nothing different about them. Some may hold secrets and stories that have never been told and others may have had occupants who barely lived to tell the tale. There aren’t many houses like these, but sometimes, if the circumstances arise, secrets can be found out and exposed. The only problem is the people who speak and reveal these secrets to the wrong people end up getting in trouble. Their lives get changed to an extraordinary detail and it changes them forever. One should never speak of secrets, not if you don’t want to get hurt…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A PIECE OF ORIGINAL WRITING WRITTEN BY MYSELF. I AM PUTTING THIS UP ON THE ARCHIVE TO RECEIVE FEEDBACK OF WHAT I HAVE CURRENTLY WRITTEN. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR STEAL ANY CONTENT. I WILL TAKE MATTERS OF PLAGIARISM INTO HAND IF I FIND MY WORK REPOSTED.

The House at the top of the hill had its first showing for the first time in fifteen years today. It had been on the market for quite a long time, with every possible buyer scurrying away from it in sheer terror. Nobody knew why. The house had been well kept with the garden trimmed short with potted dahlias planted. The house was never home to any child. Only rich upper class couples whose children had grown and left to their spouse’s homes. Or their graves, as the case usually was. The last owner was an elderly woman called Beatrice. Beatrice loved the house she lived in, and had lived there since she was fifty, up until the day she was found dead, aged seventy-five. With Beatrice having no will, no spouse, nor children, the house grew older as the years went by. The servicemen still came out every two weeks and kept the exterior in good condition. They knew the house would soon be put up to auction.

The value of the house decreased as the auctions went on, at some points the auctioneers tried only to auction the plot of land the house was built on. They would demolish the house and grant planning permission for anything to be built in its place. Couples came and couples went to the auctions, yet the house still had no buyer until the turn of the century. A newly-wed couple had spotted the house on their travel, and they had been admiring it for a while. They were quite surprised when they noticed that the house hadn't sold yet, but they were quite lucky too. They organized a meeting with the realtor, and on that same day, the house was purchased by the couple. There was no auction to attend due to the lack of interested buyers, so the house sale went through and a few weeks later they were moving in.

The couple who bought the house were named Cecil and Corinne Harman. Corinne had married Cecil for what the females of her family called a money grabbing scheme. Corinne believed it was true love, and Cecil believed it too. Yet whenever Cecil went over, the women of the house flirted with him, in an attempt to steal him from Corinne. Those were the females who wanted him for his money. Cecil was son of the Lord in the village where he resided and this meant his treasury fund grew and grew the more his father stayed in the position. By the time Cecil turned twenty-five, his treasury fund was just shy of half a million.

The wedding wasn't immediate. Cecil waited a long while until even thinking about marriage and asking Corinne to marry him. He asked Corinne to marry him in a small restaurant outside of the village, and naturally she agreed. Corinne told the news to her family the next day, and for weeks after then they began planning the wedding. Even with the money Cecil had over the years, and the way they lived, the ceremony was all quite simple. A priest in a church and their immediate family being the only people who attended the Ceremony. They didn't want to make a big fuss about the Lord's only son getting married, so they got married a few towns over. They wanted the utmost privacy for the only wedding they would want to have in their lives.

The ride to the house was very bumpy from the uneven gravelled surface and the horses trotting at a slightly out of sync pace. This caused Corinne and Cecil to rock from side to side slightly. Cecil was in a world of his own, taking in the view around him with a visible look of freedom and love on his face. Corinne was watching him from across the seat, smiling a little. She leant forwards and placed a hand on her knee.

"Isn't it going to be fantastic living in our own house, Darling?" Corinne asked, smiling over at her new husband, who was gazing out the window.

"It's going to be just that," Cecil replied, still looking out at the scenery. "It looks so extravagant. Far away from the city, the life we lived left behind..." He looked over to Corinne and smiled at her in return. "Are you going to be okay, living so far away from your family?"

"Well, I suppose it will be difficult. But think about it, Darling... It will be nice to keep away from people. We can enjoy our marriage in privacy. We can keep almost everything away from our families who will insist that we have children right away. They wouldn't want the house going another century without buyers. It's our private life with no meddling whatsoever," Corinne assured, stroking his hand gently.

The horses pulling the cart whinnied to a stop and the driver hopped down, helping them out. "Sir and Madam, we've arrived at your new home," he said. "Would you like help with your belongings?"

"Yes, please. Thank you," Cecil said, putting a hand in his twin-tailed coat and pulling out a clipping of money. "Your payment," he said, tucking it into the drivers’ tight pocket discreetly to make sure he took the payment. The driver was a loyal member of their village, and never once took payment from any of Cecil’s family members. After making sure the driver wasn’t going to protest, Cecil then walked up to the front of the house, taking hold of Corinne's hand.

“Come darling; let's go explore our new home!” Corinne chimed, walking up the steps and unlocking the door. She put her hand on the handle and opened it, a little difficult due to the weight. The door gave an unpleasant, loud creak as she pushed it open, and as she took a step inside a dust cloud rained down, causing her to cough a little. “We will definitely need to get a maid and clean the house a little better. The dust in here is…less than wanted.” She said this with a delicate and snobbish attitude, taking on a personality that was not her own due to her middle class upbringing, aside from Cecil telling her not to. She took her cloth from her small purse and covered her mouth so she didn't inhale any more dust.

“I'll get right on that,” Cecil said, making a mental note as he followed in. He kept the door open for the driver to bring in their bags.

“Excuse me, Sir, where would you like your bags?” the driver asked whilst carrying four bags on his person. Two of the cases were in his scrawny upper arms and the other two shaking his hands. The driver took his time as he stumbled in to the reception of their new home.

“Upstairs, please,” Cecil said absent-mindedly. He followed after Corinne as she walked further into the house, then he called out to her.

“Corinne, where are you off to?” 

“Exploring, Darling! It's such a big house it may take us a day to navigate to the bedrooms,” she chuckled. “I'm in the kitchen!” she called out a few moments later, gasping as she saw the size of it.

“Goodness! It's amazing,” she breathed, exploring the kitchen. “We’re going to need a small family to work in just the kitchen,” she said with a small chuckle. Corinne opened the cupboards, coughing as the dust clouded around her again. “I think it's safe to say we will need a housemaid almost immediately. Do you not have any from the old house?” she asked, turning to face him with a soft sigh.

“I know some,” Cecil said, tucking her hair behind her ear again and holding her in a comforting embrace. “I'll try and get in touch with my parents and see if they can send one out to us,” he promised. 

“Would you like to go explore the rest of the house? We could spend forever in the kitchen, but I'm sure there are much more exciting places in this magnificent house.” Cecil held his hand out and took Corinne’s gloved hand in his own, kissing the satin. “Do you want to the garden? I hear the gardens are well kept. It's quite possible that it is the tidiest part of the house,” he said with a smile. Corinne nodded at this with a small smile, looking up at him.

“Let's go then, darling,” she said softly, moving to the door. “How do we get to the garden?”

“I think it's this way,” Cecil said, walking back into the kitchen, over to the oak doors and opening them. Doing this revealed the garden; the grass trimmed like the front garden and flowers planted the length of the walkway into a smaller garden patch.

Corinne ran into the centre of the garden in absolute awe. “Oh…Cecil…” she breathed, spinning around. She crouched down after gathering her dress in her hands, admiring the budded plants. “It’s beautiful! Imagine when these bloom in the spring! We’ll need a gardener to keep the gardens looking so wonderful.”

“Actually…I’d like it if we did the garden maintenance together. I’ve lived in a world where everybody does everything for you that I’ve never actually gotten in touch with my nature side. We’ll still have the gardeners come around to do the majority of the garden work, but I want to do small things like growing flowers and planting vegetables and fruit trees together,” Cecil said, looking over at her. “Would you like to do that?”

“Well, I’m… Okay,” she said, nodding but looking a little defeated. She had hoped there’d be no work to do. She hoped she could just relax and there would be time for them both to enjoy their new independent life. Cecil smiled over at her.

“I think that when we’re settled into the house, we can go out to the village we passed on the way here. Just to get to know people. Would you like to do that?” he asked, walking through the garden a little further.

“Of course, darling,” Corinne nodded. “If we’re going to garden we should buy some gardening materials.”

“Exactly,” he said, looking around. “Do you want to go back inside? We can continue looking around the house and I can write to my family about the staff.”

Corinne nodded, walking back to the back door and waiting for Cecil to follow. “I’m going to go to our room, get our things packed away,” she said in a delicate tone, her heeled boots tapping on the floor of the kitchen. “See you in a little while.”

Corinne left to walk up the stairs, amazed by all of the decorations around her. As she approached the top of the stairs, the floorboards at the end of the corridor creaked unexpectedly, causing her to jump. Although frightened, Corinne’s curiosity peaked, and she wanted to find out more.


	2. Two

With her curiosity peaked, Corinne continued walking up the stairs to locate the bedrooms, taking her time and looking at all the details in the house. She occasionally ran a finger along the protruding details, rubbing the excessive dust off her fingers with a scowl. “Absolutely filthy,” she scoffed, going to open a door that she found to be locked. She hummed, walking to the next door and finding the same occurrence.

This continued for the rest of the doors along the corridor, only two doors opening at the very end being the bathroom and their bedroom. She turned and started to walk back to the stairs, “Cecil, did we get any more keys to the house aside from the ones we had?” she called down, leaning over the rails.

“No my beloved, we didn’t. Why?” he asked, walking to the bottom of the staircase and looking up at her.

“It’s just that I’ve found that the corridor has locked doors, I want to know what is inside them,” she said, making her way back down the staircase. “It’s lighting my spark to venture, and of course, if we’re going to be living here, we’ve got to find out that there is nothing to be frightened of. Beatrice was described as a lovely lady, but she might have anything and everything hiding in those rooms,” she added.

Cecil shrugged, “I can call in a locksmith to break the locks if you’re so inclined to seeing what is inside them,” he said. “But it will have to wait for a while, I am still getting accustomed to the house, and I need to write home in query to having the staff from our old home. Can you wait, dear?”

“Well…If I have to wait…” she sighed softly. “I suppose I can wait,” Corinne nodded and stood opposite him. “It may make whatever is behind the doors even more exciting to find,” she giggled.

Despite this, Corinne was still confused on what the noises she heard just moments before. She put on a tough demeanour, making absolutely certain that nobody would ever find out, not until she knew.

Over the course of the next few days, Cecil had contacted his family to ask for some of the old staff they had at the house that wouldn’t mind relocating to live in their new home. His father had paid for the staff to get a carriage ride to the home, and he went down the stairs as he heard the iron-wrought gates opening and the horses whinnying to a stop.

“Corinne! They’re here!” he called, walking out of the house and helping them out one at a time and into the house. “Just wait inside the front of the house, I’ll assign you rooms,” he said to them all and assisted the driver in getting the bags from the carriage.

“Thank you very much for travelling all this way,” Cecil said to the driver. “Corinne and I really do appreciate it,” he smiled. Cecil went to put his hand into his pocket to pay him and the driver put his hand up in polite rejection.

“No, no Sir. I do not want your money. I have told you, I don’t take money from the Lord and his immediate family. Besides, you have given me so much already; I couldn’t possibly take this much off of you.”

“I insist, please take this. It is honestly the least Corinne and I can do. We’re very grateful for you coming out so far. Buy your horses some nice food and fix up your carriage with this. I mean it, Jamie, you can take it. Use it,” Cecil said with assertion, picking up a few bags and walking into the front of the house, putting the bags next to the staff members that didn’t have bags near them.

“Thank you all so much for agreeing to work for Corinne and myself, it means so much to us. You’ll use the kitchen and the dining room for cooking and dining and your bedrooms will be assigned to you. We’re currently awaiting a locksmith to take locks off what will be spare bedrooms, so if you could work with us on this predicament we will be grateful,” Cecil explained with a smile looking over at Corinne to see if she wanted to add anything else.

Corinne stayed quiet for a moment, smiling gently. “Very grateful,” she nodded, holding Cecil’s hand.

“Excuse me, Sir? How should we address you?” one of the workers spoke quietly.

“No formalities, please, address us by our usual names. You working for us will be more relaxed, though if you do want to, you may address us as Mr or Mrs Hartman, of course that all depends on who you are talking to,” Cecil said to the worker, yet addressing the entire line of workers. “Enjoy the rest of your day. Work will start tomorrow,” he said to the rest of them, dismissing them as they walked off to explore the house.

Cecil stepped towards the bags that had been left behind. “Corinne, can you help move the bags to the other room, please?” he asked, picking up two of the bags and waiting for her to follow. He walked along to find a room to put the bags in, looking around.

“This is a wonderful home,” he breathed, looking around the room in amazement. “How lucky were we to get this home?”

“Very lucky,” Corinne smiled. “It’s quite a fascinating home; it feels as though all the locked doors are secrets. I really can’t wait to find them out. When did you say the locksmith was going to be coming along?”

“Well I finally got in contact with them, and they said that they would be out in the next few days. I just hope the workers don’t mind sharing two rooms between them all until the rooms are unlocked,” he replied, making his way back to the door. “Ready to go?” he smiled, holding his hand out to Corinne.

“Of course darling,” she smiled, stepping out with him. “Would it be wise to show the workers around the home?”

“I think so,” he nodded, walking to the kitchen and stopping by the doorway. “I’ll gather a small group so you can show them around, just wait there, dear,” he said. “Would anybody like a tour of the house? Corinne is more than happy to show you around.”

A few hands went up in the air from some of the younger workers, scurrying around to the front of the counters and standing confidently. Cecil counted out a few of the workers and took them out to Corinne.

 “Good afternoon, Mrs Hartman, I am Jessica, though I don’t mind being called Jess for short. I’m one of the youngest workers that you and your husband hired. My mother is Mrs Jackson; she used to work for Cecil’s family a long time ago. I don’t suppose you remember her though, do you?” Jessica said with a wide smile, rambling on for a long while, something she did when she was nervous and meeting new people.

“Her name does sound familiar. I remember Mrs Jackson talking about you when she worked for his family. She talked about how bonny you were, and right she was. You’re a very lovely young lady. I’m sure you will have boys lining up to court you when you're old enough,” Corinne laughed softly, going to move along to talk with the rest of the workers, but having her sleeve tugged on gently by Jessica.

“Mrs Hartman, will you take offence if I call you mother sometimes? It’s just living without my mother is going to be very difficult for me. I won’t be upset if you tell me I can’t, it would just put my mind at ease having a motherly figure to talk to once in a while,” she asked softly, feeling embarrassed.

Corinne nodded with a soft smile. “That is definitely okay. I know what it’s like not getting to see your mother. You can call me that if you wish, Jessica,” she whispered squeezing her hand gently as she went to walk on. “I’ll always be around if you need me,” she added, “Don’t be afraid to ask me for anything that troubles you.”

“Thank you, Mrs Hartman,” Jessica whispered, stepping back and looking down at the floor.

Corinne got to know the rest of the staff that she hadn’t got to known. She was particularly fond of the old, greying butler, Bertram. He had promised that he would always have a hot meal delivered to her bedroom door each morning for breakfast. He also promised that she would have the finest smelling bath salts for when she bathed.

Cecil on the other hand was notified that the locksmith, Nick Atherton, had just arrived at the iron-wrought gates and required entrance into the lot. He walked down the stairs and out to the doors, having to push against the strong winds that had just blown a gust, sending the leaves into an autumnal whirlpool.

“Thank you ever so much for coming out,” Cecil said, walking against the wind that wouldn’t let up. “Very grateful for your help,” he said, leading the locksmith up the stairs. “It’s the doors on the left that are stuck,” he explained. “We were thinking there could be more bedrooms in there. They were locked with a key that we weren’t actually given when we bought the house,” he explained.

“Ah, that’s alright Sir. Just give me an hour and I’ll have these doors open for you. Free of charge!” Nick had said, taking his tools out of his small messenger satchel bag and walking kneeling down in front of the lock. “Aye, Mr. Hartman, you said you wanted the doors unlocking, would you like me to replace the locks and give you a set of keys for them? I know you said you wanted to use them as bedrooms and all, but would you like them to be lockable again?” he asked, his soft Irish accent breaking through in his speech.

“Oh, no thank you, just the doors unlocking and having the handles changed to a normal purpose use, please. We don’t want them locking again,” Cecil explained. “Shall I leave you here to finish the job?”

“I don’t mind sir, but I do work better without distractions. I’ll come find you when the job is finished and the doors are open for you,” he nodded, sticking his tongue out as he worked on picking the locks, a very tedious task.

Cecil walked back down to the stairs, walking into the kitchen to find Bertram and the new kitchen staff working on the midday meals.

“Good afternoon, Mr Hartman,” one of the plumper women, Eva Ebsworth greeted, hard at work boiling heartily sized lumps of meat over the gas cooker. “Is lamb stew taking your fancy for lunch this fine afternoon?” she asked, putting the lid on the large pot and starting to peel and chop vegetables at a nimble speed.

“Oh that sounds wonderful, thank you Eva,” he thanked, looking around and seeing Bertram in the corner of the kitchen filling up the kettle to boil on the other set of gas rings. “Ah, Bertram, could you possibly take the time to make enough drink for the locksmith, Corinne and I?” he asked as the butler passed him.

 “Absolutely, Sir, just give the water a moment or two to boil and I’ll make up a lovely pot of Earl Grey for you all. Your parents reminded us of your preferences on how you take your hot beverages – Earl Grey taken with a dash of milk with no sugar in the morning; Hot Cocoa taken with no milk and no sugar at night; Lemon Tea taken strong for when you’re feeling ill and absolutely no coffee beverages for the bitter taste of it,” Bertram rattled on, walking back around to assist Eva in cleaning up the peelings of vegetables.

“Would you like these on the compost heap, Eva?”

“You’re much too kind, Bertram. I’ll take them out shortly, I was going to go out and get some air whilst the meat reduces. I dislike cooking with fatty meats, and the lamb had quite a lot of fat around it. I need to go down to the cellar anyway to get some ingredients to make tonight’s meal. Thank you, anyway,” she said politely, bagging up the peelings in a small plastic bag and making her way to the kitchen door, pattering along the floor. She was just about to set foot into the corridor as Nick Atherton raced past her, struggling for breath.

His face looked like he had seen a ghost as he was bundling his tools back into his bag. “Mr Hartman, sir I’m dreadfully sorry but I can’t finish your work today, I simply can’t,” he exclaimed, pulling his dishevelled clothes straight and making his way hastily for the door.

“Whatever do you mean; you can’t finish the work today?” Cecil asked, rushing out to follow him as he ran down to the iron gates.

“I _saw_ something as I looked through the keyhole to figure out why I couldn’t disable the locks, Mr Hartman. Something that wasn’t human – a-a demon, a ghost, an extra-terrestrial spirit of some sort!” he stammered out, spinning to face him.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous! There is no such thing as ghosts, demons, or spirits. It’s preposterous! There is no afterlife. After life there is only death!” Cecil exclaimed, standing in absolute astonishment at the words that he had just heard.

“Oh believe me, your house is _alive_ , Mr Hartman. Those doors weren’t locked by the previous owner, Mr Hartman. Those doors have been locked by whom, or what, has been occupying the estate for a very long time. They don’t want their personal spaced intruded upon. They do not want those doors tampering with under any means. Promise me Mr Hartman that you will under any circumstances _never, ever_ have those doors tampered with,” he threatened softly. “I don’t wish for any of your new staff members or yourself and your wife hurt over whatever inhabits your home,” he said, turning around and not hesitating to make his way to the gates, stumbling over his footsteps as he went, leaving the iron gates creaking loudly as he decided to walk all the way back into the town.


	3. Three

Still so puzzled as to why the locksmith had ran off in such a hurry and how he had managed to see all of what mankind weren’t supposed to see after the death of anybody, Cecil sighed, going into the outhouse at the back of the garden and pilfering around for some tools. _If he won’t unlock the doors for me, I’ll unlock them myself_ , Cecil thought with the highest of determination, finding a toolbox.

He locked the outhouse and walked back into the house, not knowing how he wasn’t seen carrying a rusty toolbox back into the home and up the stairs. Locating the door that was the problem, he looked into the lock, and by his surprise, saw _nothing at all_ in the way that Nick Atherton described the sighting of the dead. Laughing to himself, Cecil pried open the rusty toolbox with a loud and ear-hurting squeak, somewhere between the iron wrought gates creaking as they opened and the whines of a cat fighting for food.

After reconciling his hearing for a moment, he looked for the right tools to do the job - a screwdriver that fitted the holes in the door handle; a hammer, to knock the handle out of place, and a small hand torch so he could see where he was guiding the screwdriver. He laid out his jacket on the floor under the door handle to catch any mess he may make whilst performing the task, and set to work.

It was a very gruelling task which required the utmost concentration, but eventually, he managed to loosen every screw from the door handle, putting them on top of his jacket, which was now being showered with speckles of rust.

Swapping out the screwdriver for the hammer to finally jam the lock off the door, he stuck the small of his tongue out in concentration and aimed to hit the join of the door handle to pull the handle off. As he drew the hammer back in the line of fire he had envisioned, somebody called out his name, causing the thumb on the handle of the door to subconsciously slip, and subsequently get stricken by hammer.

Dropping the hammer with a loud string of curses, Cecil sat cradling his hand which had already turned red, and was beginning to swell. “Blazes to hell,” he snarled, pushing himself up off the floor with his good hand and walking off down the corridor to the bathroom next to the married couples’ bedroom. He turned the gilt taps on and started to attempt cooling the wound, which had now started to bleed.

“Eva! Could I get some assistance please,” he called out into the corridor, gasping out in pain as he reached over for the wash cloth, trying to wash the blood away. He was certain that he may have broken at least one bone in his thumb, judging by the immense pain it took to put even the slightest of pressure to just wash the blood out of the wound.

He waited a few moments for Eva but she didn’t come, and he sighed, wrapping the washcloth gently around his thumb and walking down the stairs to the kitchen. “Bertram, Eva?” he called out, hissing as he pulled the drawers open, looking for bandages, which proved to be a difficult task with the washcloth making it hard to move.

Eva came rushing into the kitchen, “I’m sorry Mr Hartman – Oh dear, what happened?” she gasped as she saw the wash cloth wrapped over his hand, escorting the injured man to a seat and pulling the washcloth off slowly. “Oh Mr Hartman,” she said, inspecting his thumb. “I think you’ll need to visit a doctor,” she commented. “How did you do this?”

“I was trying to disable the locks when I slipped, I hit myself with the hammer,” he said, hissing as she jarred his thumb around. “Could you dress it for me, and I’ll go to the town to visit the doctor. I may be late home for tea if I go today,” he asked.

“Certainly Mr Hartman – I’ll get this dressed up for you straight away. You just wait here, I’ll get the bandages and alcohol to clean it up so you don’t get any nasty infections,” Eva said, walking around the kitchen to find the equipment.

Cecil looked out into the hallway of the house, unbeknownst to the fact that Eva had just applied a generous amount of alcohol disinfectant to his thumb. He didn’t pull away, or make any noise of discomfort as she applied more alcohol to the bandage and wrapped it tightly.

“There we go, Mr Hartman – all wrapped up. Are you going to be okay going into town on your own?” she asked.

“I’ll be fine, if you could just get my coat for me,” he said, standing up off the seat and walking out of the kitchen to the door. “I’m sure it isn’t too far to walk,” he added, putting his coat on as Eva held it around his shoulders.

“Tell Corinne I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can and not to worry about me. I’m just going to get this looked at by a doctor and set if needed,” he said, standing at the door. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he nodded, shutting the door and walking down the front to the wrought iron gates, opening them and leaving.

 As he left the land, the wind picked up again, slamming the iron gates with a loud bang. Cecil would have been lying to himself had he said it didn’t scare him slightly. He was almost beginning to believe that there was something living in the house. If Eva had been so far from him, who had called out his name?

“No! Stop it, man; you’re going to make yourself mad!” Cecil scolded himself, walking along the defined tracks of the road to get to the town. “There are no such things as ghosts, and anybody who says otherwise it quite frankly insane. People who believe in apparitions need carting off to the asylum. Ghosts aren’t real, spirits aren’t real, and demons aren’t real.” He muttered this mantra to himself as he carried on walking with a determined stride, reaching the town a few hours walk later.

Perhaps it should have been wise from him to have taken a carriage from the home. Walking alone meant that he had been with his thoughts. The thoughts spewing mad theorems about what Atherton had said. Cecil shook his head as he walked into the marketplace, locating the doctor’s office from the directional signs in the centre of the town.

“Good day,” he greeted the receptionist as he walked up to the front desk, smiling down at her gently. “I’d like to make an appointment to see the doctor please. As soon as possible, preferably,” he added.

The receptionist scrunched her face in confusion, not recognising this patient, standing up and walking to the tall filing cabinet to make an attempt to look for his non-existent files. She shook her head after falsely searching for his documents and took a seat back at her desk.

“Are you a patient to the Doctor here, Mr…?” she started, looking up at Cecil.

“Hartman, Cecil Hartman. No, I’m not,” he said. “I have only just moved here you see, I haven’t had time to-”

“I’m dreadfully sorry, Mr Hartman, but this is a patients only doctor’s office. I’m afraid you’ll have to register to be a patient here and in the meantime see if you can find a call out doctor to visit,” the receptionist said, cutting him off politely, making a move to continue with her work.

“I understand, but could I, just possibly, on this one occasion, see the doctor. I’ve injured and quite possibly broken my thumb and I need it looking at,” he attempted to reason, showing her his bandaged hand which was starting to speckle blood droplets through the material. “I know it is an awful lot to put me down, but the office looks lacking in business and I promise I won’t take any longer than I need to,” he added. “Please?”

The receptionist looked at him, to his hand, then back to him. “Well…one this one occasion, I’ll allow it. However, Mr Hartman can you please try to make an appointment next time? Or at least fill in your patient details? I will have to find you a form and get your details written down for future reference. Take a seat and I’ll bring out the form to you once I find them. I’ll let the doctor know of your arrival as soon as you’ve filled that in,” she said, pointing to the shabby waiting area of rickety chairs and off-white tables behind him.

Cecil turned his head, finding a seat and sitting down, waiting for her to find the registration forms to bring them over to him. In the meantime, he shut his eyes for a few moments, figuring it would be a long wait.

* * *

 

_Back inside the house, Cecil was seeing the strangest of sights… the house almost looked like it was bleeding…seeping red from the cracks in between the bricks in the walls. He touched a hand out gingerly to the seeping liquid, and its thickness thinned out into a water-like consistency, coating all over from his fingertips to his wrist. However, he wasn’t fazed by this. He was merely intrigued, for the more red that coated his hand; the more he wanted to figure out what this liquid was._

_Seeing that the liquid reached the floor, staining the brown floorboards, Cecil squatted down, investigating it. It fascinated him to see how even on the surface it bubbled, and spat small pockets of air, splatting his cheeks in the faintest of blood-like splatters. It almost looked like he had committed a ghastly murder and wasn’t in a rush to cleanse his skin of the evidence._

_Wiping his hand on a handkerchief that he pulled from his black slacks, he peered into the distance of the long corridor, seeing the locked door push open, seeing the sight of a ghoul outstretching its withered, cracked hand. Beckoning him closer with a come hither motion, the ghoul called out to him in a raspy voice._

_“Cecil… come to me,” it called, pulling itself out of the door and slowly shuffling down the corridor, leaving a stain as red as the liquid in its path. “Come to the other side with me…surrender to the house,” it hissed out, and before he knew of what he was doing, he found himself walking towards the ghoul, his hand stretching out to take the ghouls hand._

_His fingers were a fraction from dusting against the withered, bony fingers of the ghoul as he was pulled out of the trance, and felt himself being pulled back to reality._

* * *

 

“Mr Hartman? Mr Hartman is everything okay?” asked the receptionist, standing in front of him as his eyes looked blankly through her. “Mr Hartman I have the forms you need to fill in, and the doctor is waiting for you. Would you like to be escorted in? You look a slight bit pale; I wouldn’t want you injuring yourself further in case you fall,” she explained, holding out a hand to him to help him from his seat.

Cecil’s eyes widened, screaming out and pushing her hand away, pushing himself out of his chair and backing away from her, his back flush against the wall. “Stay away from me,” hissed the man, too afraid to look a coward. Cecil snatched the forms from her, walking down the corridor to the office of the doctor, knocking and walking in.

“Mr Hartman, I am Dr Harris, Edward if you don’t like using formalities… Is everything alright? There was quite a ruckus outside,” the man said, pushing himself away from his desk to shake his hand.

“Yes. Yes, everything is quite alright, thank you,” Cecil answered, shaking Edward’s hand and taking a seat.

“Well, what can I do for you today, Mr Hartman?”

“I was at my new home doing some decorating and struck my thumb against the head of the hammer. I hit the bone directly and it began to bleed quite heavily. My kitchen maid dressed it for me and sent me straight over to your practice,” he explained, gesturing to his thumb.

“I see, I see. Well Mr Hartman, if you could just relax your hand so I can take a look and properly prescribe a treatment for you.”

Cecil placed his hand on the desk in front of him, following the doctor’s orders as Edward’s finger untied the tightly wrapped bandage. Despite the specks of blood that seeped through the fabric, it seemed to have stopped bleeding and was now clotting.

“Mr Hartman, could you try moving your thumb? I just want to see how damaged your thumb is. It may need splinting if the bone is broken, or setting with force if it is injured worse than I think with improper judgement,” he explained, setting the bandage into a shallow bowl, pouring an unmeasured amount of disinfectant over the material to clean and kill any germs.

Cecil moved his thumb gingerly, not in too much of a great deal of pain at first movement, but when Edwards hand came down and moved his thumb, he hollered in pain at the bold movement.

“It will need setting with force and wrapped back up and also put under a strict ‘no-movement’ ban for at least 24 hours to help with the healing process. Take this to the pharmacist, he works daily until an hour after the office closes, he’ll make up some pain relief and advise you further on what to do,” Edward said, writing down a pain relief specifications.

“Now, this is a very painful process to set a fractured bone without any prior pain relief,” he started. “But it is vital to ensure a proper healing,” he added. “But it won’t take more than a moment, so long as you comply with me and work together. Can you do that for me?”

“Well, I suppose there isn’t any other way around it. I’ll have to manifest with the slight inconvenience of pain for a moment, won’t I?” quipped Cecil, growling from the intolerable pain that still gave a harsh spark every now and then. “If you could please just get on with it,” he murmured, bracing himself for the pain that was to come.

Edward shrugged his shoulders, draining the disinfectant from the bandage, placing it on the side and taking hold of his thumb. “I’ll pull hard on a count of three,” he said. “One… two… three!” he murmured, pulling hard on the broken bone, holding it in place as Cecil writhed in the pain, hitting his foot against the side of the desk in agony.

“Almost done, Mr Hartman, I just have to bound it in place,” he said. “One final step and that’s it,” he said, grabbing the dry bandage and bounding it tightly on the newly set bone. “How does that feel?” he asked after tying it secure.

Cecil stopped gritting his teeth and balling his other hand into a fist long enough to nod in thanks. “A considerable amount better,” he commented. “Let’s say that I’m not in so much agony anymore,” he false-joked, standing up. “Thank you very much,” he thanked gratefully, shaking his hand, heading for the door.

“Mr Hartman, you didn’t fill in your patient form,” he called out. “I can fill it in with you now,” he offered. “That is if you’re unable to write.”

“Oh, yes, if you could help, I’d be grateful,” he answered, walking back to sit at his desk.

Filling out the form was pretty self-explanatory, Edward took his name, occupation, age and medical history before asking for his address should there need to be any home visits. That was where a problem struck.

“You live _there_?” he asked. “What is it like living in a fabled house like that? Why, nobody has lived there in an age!” gasped the doctor, dropping his pen in disbelief. “That has to be a lie, surely. You can’t live there. Surely not,” he shook his head.

However Cecil confirmed his address. “I do. My wife and I and a few workers to maintain the house live there.”

“You’re very brave, Mr Hartman, living in a house like yours. It’s got a strange story behind it, you know,” said Edward, a serious look about his face. “Oh well, I suppose I can’t really judge where one wants to spend the rest of his life. If it gave you freedom from your parents, then that is all that accounts,” he shrugged.

Cecil watched Edward as he talked of the houses past, nodding anyway. “Well, if that is all, I should really get to the pharmacist,” he said, standing up again and walking out of the office, the surgery, to the pharmacists practice before opting to take a carriage home to the house.


End file.
